47. Aspen
ASPEN
The first flakes of snow fell this morning. It was only a small flurry, but it signals a change coming.
It also means it’s harder for me to head outside to find things to draw. I’m going to use my phone to find something to inspire me.
Things have been returning to normal—or at least as normal as they can be considering the circumstances.
I’ve taken to leaving my room to get my meals, which means I’ve been around Blake again.
We’re pretending like none of this has happened, like we’ve gone back in time to before Tobias visited and before I begged to suck his cock in the woods.
We’re interacting carefully, while ignoring the huge elephant in the room.
We haven’t talked about Tobias, or why he’d lied about there being a prepper in the cabin in the woods, or who the person is coming into my room at night.
Everything feels so fragile and tentative, it’s like one wrong word could blow everything apart.
He hasn’t mentioned Levi to me either, so I’m hoping Levi hasn’t mentioned us having sex.
I sit cross-legged on my bed, my phone in hand.
I’ve taken hundreds of photographs since I’ve been here of all kinds of things, from closeups of plants and old stone structures and statues to the vast scenery of the mountains and of course of the hotel itself.
I’d still like to draw it on a large scale and frame it as a thank you gift to Blake.
Speaking of Blake, I’ve also sneaked some photos of him when he’s not been looking.
I linger on those photographs now, my insides fluttering at just the sight of him.
He’s so big and strong and rugged, he makes me feel as though I can be utterly helpless around him.
Recent events haven’t changed how I feel about him, though I know they should have.
I still experience that pull of longing every time he’s around.
My heart physically aches for his presence.
I keep having to remind myself that he lied to me, and I can’t trust him, but I desperately want to.
Perhaps I should push him more for information, but I’m a coward.
I don’t want to know, and I don’t want to deal with the fallout either. Where would I go? What would I do?
My life is completely in his hands.
I keep scrolling through my gallery, but instead of looking at photographs from my time here, I go back to older pictures, to ones of me with my dad.
There are some of me with Tobias, too, but I scroll quickly through those.
I find looking at photographs with me and my dad painful.
There aren’t many from his final few months.
There’s one of the two of us together at his favorite restaurant with a meal in front of us both, though I remember he’d barely touched his.
He’s smiling for the picture, but I can see the pain in his face.
At least he let me keep that one. Other times, when I’d taken his photo, he’d snatched the phone off me and deleted it.
He hadn’t done it to be cruel. He just hadn’t recognized himself in them.
Perhaps if he’d considered that one day those pictures would be all I’d have left, he wouldn’t have deleted them.
I twirl my hair, tugging at the lock.
My phone gallery shows me collections of all the people I’ve regularly photographed, using their headshots in small circles. There’s one for my dad, and another for me, and even one for Blake. Perhaps I should select the one with Tobias and delete them all?
But then I frown. One of the circles contains a face I don’t recognize.
Icy fingers trail down the back of my neck and all the hairs on my arms stand to attention.
Why does my phone think this stranger is someone I know?
Someone I’ve photographed regularly? I’ve never seen them before in my life.
Still, something about them is familiar.
My hand is shaking as I select all the photographs that contain this man’s face.
They’re all from recent pictures, all ones I’ve taken here at Windridge Hall.
I’m not sure how I didn’t notice the man in the background when I took the photographs, but I guess I was focusing on whatever I’d wanted the subject of my drawing to be, and not the surroundings. He’s distant, but the image is clear enough for my phone to be able to pick up his face.
I click on one of the photographs and swipe two fingers across the screen to enlarge the man in the background. He’s standing among the trees in the foreground when I’d been taking a photo of the mountains.
I’m spooked.
Is it a ghost?
It’s a crazy thought, but I can’t help myself. It’s where my thoughts first go.
Except the image isn’t pale or translucent.
Isn’t that what a ghost is supposed to look like?
I only think this because it’s what I’ve been told via movies and books, but really, how do any of us know?
Maybe a ghost does just look like a regular person standing there?
We could walk past one in the street and never even know.
Shivers down my spine. A ghost walking over my grave.
My eyes prickle with tears, catching in my lower eyelashes. I bite at the inside of my mouth.
It can’t be a ghost.
It’s a young man with a thick head of wavy, light brown hair.
He’s around Levi’s age, perhaps a little older.
Something about his build is familiar. Huge biceps, the t-shirt straining around them.
I try to zoom in on his face to get a better look, but even though the detection software on my phone was able to pick him up, when I zoom closer, his face is blurry.
Who is he?
If I hadn’t already been out to the cabin in the woods, I’d assume this man to be the prepper I’d been told about when I’d first arrived, but I’ve been out there and I know the place is empty.
No one has lived there for a long time. Another possibility is that this man is a contractor, but again, even though Blake told me they had people working on the hotel, I haven’t seen anyone here—no one obvious, anyway.
I’m going to have to ask Blake, or even Levi.
This man has been watching me. It’s clear from the photographs and the number of times I’ve accidentally caught him in the background, but I’ve also sensed him, haven’t I? Countless times. Had he been the one in the maze that day? What about chasing me through the woods?
I think of the times I’ve felt a presence outside of my bedroom door, and someone in my room when I’ve been half asleep. It was this stranger; I’m sure of it.
He must be the one who’s left me the stick dolls.
I reach out and pluck the first doll I’d found from the nightstand where it’s been sitting ever since I got here. I run my thumb over its tiny head. Perhaps I should be way more freaked out than I am—though I am freaked out—but more than anything, I’m curious.
With the stick figure still in my hand, I pocket my phone and jump off my bed.
I leave the bedroom in search of Blake. Over the past few weeks, I’ve gotten to know his routine pretty well, and I tend to know where to find him, depending on the time of day.
With the weather turning colder, he’s now focusing on the interior of the property instead of the exterior.
Levi is far harder to track down. He’s normally out in the woods somewhere, fishing, or hunting, or chopping down trees.
No wonder the idea of the bad weather setting in plays on his mind so much.
He must be like a caged animal, wandering the hallways of the hotel, waiting for his time to escape.
I’m surprised he hasn’t returned to my room for a rerun of what happened between us, but I haven’t seen him.
Is he staying away from me for a reason?
Does he regret what happened between us?
I’m not really sure what to think. Levi doesn’t seem like the kind of person who has many regrets, but he could be worried about Blake’s reaction if he were to find out.
I’m feeling a little guilty, too. Having sex with Levi hasn’t changed how I feel about Blake. I still want him. Still desire him. But even though there have been a couple of slipups, he’s made his thoughts clear to me.
Blake doesn’t want me, so why shouldn’t Levi have me?
I find Blake in a ground floor room at the back of the hotel, working on some of the older patio doors, scraping paint and resealing the glass.
“I need to speak to you,” I announce.
He puts down the sander he’s been using, then rakes his hair out of his face and smiles at me. God damn, that smile. I remind myself to stay strong.
“Sure thing, Pen.”
I take my phone out of my pocket, open the screen, and scroll to one of the images I need. I’ve taken screenshots of the original photographs, except where I’ve scrolled in so the man in the background now takes up most of the screen. I thrust the cell phone under Blake’s nose.
“Who is this man?”
Blake stares down at the phone, and I stare at Blake. I study his expression for any hint of recognition. He must know who this person is. They’ve been hanging around ever since I’ve been here.
Is there something in his expression? A tensing around the mouth, a flicker in his eye, a slight stiffening of his shoulders? I’m sure there’s something.
“I have no idea.”
I raise my brow. “Seriously? You’ve never seen him before?”
“Should I have?”
“I’d hope so. He’s been following me ever since I got here.”
Blake scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
He’s lying. I’m sure of it. I bristle at him calling me ridiculous when I have literal proof on my phone.
“Am I imagining all these photos, then? They go right back to my first day here. He’s often very tiny in the background, so it’s hard to know for sure that it’s him, but you can tell by his build that it’s the same person.”
“Could be one of the contractors?”
I stare at him. “Wouldn’t you know? Aren’t contractors people you hire? How can you not recognize someone you’ve hired?”
He shrugs. “Lots of people come and go.”